And here too I, the latest fool of Time, <br />Sad child of doubt and passionate desires, <br />Touched with all pity, yet in league with crime, <br />Watched the red sunsets from the Alpine spires, <br />And lit my poet's lamp with kindred fires, <br />And dared to snatch my share of the sublime. <br />There was one with me, master of the choirs <br />Of eloquent thought, who listening to my rhyme, <br />And seeing in me a soul set on things <br />Not wholly base, although my need was sore, <br />Bade me take courage and essay new wings. <br />And thus it was I first beheld this shore, <br />Mourning the loss yet half consoled of gain, <br />The passionate pleader of youth's creed of pain.<br /><br />Wilfrid Scawen Blunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-new-pilgrimage-sonnet-xxiv/
